


I Don't Mind Falling (If It's Into Your Arms)

by Summerskya



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Major Character Death, Mentions of Suicide, Swearing, Underfell, kind of a hurt/comfort fic?, post-genocide, underswap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7347685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summerskya/pseuds/Summerskya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you lose everything, even staying alive for just another day is a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Mind Falling (If It's Into Your Arms)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Undertale fic, and more specifically my first fic since a really long time… I apologize in advance for any errors you may find, English isn’t my first language and writing a story in it it’s pretty difficult! Anyway, feel free to correct me if you find any mistakes!  
> This fic is dedicated to tumblr artist http://you-dirty-brother-killer.tumblr.com/ , who's one of my favorite Undertale artist and whose art inspired this story.

The falling water hit the ground with a musical, almost soothing gurgling; a wordless lullaby, that stroked his ear holes with its lumpy and fragmented noise. Below him, the abyss stood in all its mindblowing blackness, seeming to go on forever, like death’s throat (ugh, what a dark image). A jump would’ve been enough, hell, even a step would’ve been enough, the smallest of steps, a minuscule thrust, an insignificant shift forward, and the abyss would’ve swallowed him, enveloping him in darkness, blinding deafing killing him, and then he would’ve never felt anything again. Red brought a hand to his chest, over where his fire red soul was, and gripped the dry and worn-out leather of his coat with sharp phalanges; oh, it would’ve been so good, to finally stop that burning, pounding pain that tore him apart every day very hour every fucking damn second, to become deaf to that hoarse voice that screamed his name in unbearable agony, and that every night in his dreams (in his _nightmares_ ) broke half-way through a sentence with a nauseating snap, and please make it be a broken branch please please anything but him yes of course it was a branch it wasn’t him it wasn’t his neck it wasn’t his vertebrae shuttering his cranium falling his body becoming dust and ash and mingling with the ground.  
  
Red squeezed his eye-sockets shut and cradled his head between his hands, the tips of his fingers digging into his cranium, the physical pain so refreshing compared to the pulsing and burning grief that gripped his soul. Oh, please, make it stop make it stop make it stop, his voice his eye-sockets his mouth, the burning warmth of his body, those hands that stroked his ribs ever so lightly but still strongly, making his soul jump in his chest, before trailing snake-like down his spine and- no, NO, stop, stop, make it stop, make it sTOP, _makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop-_  
  
He opened his eyes wide; the abyss was still there, below him. It felt like it was looking at him, inviting him to jump, to surrender himself to it, to its blackness and its oblivion, promising to finally silence all that noise that was smashing his very soul. He lifted a trembling hand towards the tempting darkness, his fingers seeming to grasp ate the void, almost touching it… Just a few more inches and everything would’ve been over, erased and forgotten, just a few more inches and-  
  
“old habits die hard, uh?”  
  
Red jumped in surprise, the out-stretched hand clenching into a fist; he closed his eye-sockets, an almost sob-like sigh escaping him.  
  
“i guess”. He let his arm fall, the tension of the previous moments dissipating like smoke in the wind. He threw a look at the abyss; it was still watching him, in all its nightmarish blackness, but it wasn’t calling him nearly as strong as before.  
  
Behind him, Stretch took some steps, the water rustling around his feet, and sat near him on the edge of the abyss; Red didn’t dare look at him, staring intently into the dark.  
  
“how are you?”  
  
Stretch’s voice was calm, hoarse, like usual; it didn’t seem to hide any worry or uncertainity, and Red peeked at him out of the corner of his eye-socket, frowning.What kind of fucking question was that?  
  
“how the fuck do you think i am?”, he spat up, as if the words were full of venom.  
  
Stretch, eye-sockets fixated in the void in front of him and mouth tight around a cigarette (how many had he already smoked today? he had started smoking so much more since… _the thing_ had happened), remaind motionless, calm, as though Red had just asked something about the weather or his plans regarding dinner. Red focused on him, his cranium now completely turned to him; he let his gaze run over his crunched figure, from the orange torn and worn-out hoodie, which let the eye grasp the shape of a bent backbone, as if weighted down by and invisible burden, to the long, lean legs, on top of which, abandoned with an almost dimasyed nonchalance, were his tapered, soft hands (hands that when touched were cool in the best of ways, of a coolness so comfortable and cozy that it alone could be called home), and to the faded blue ribbon tied tightly, almost desperatly, to his left wrist. Red closed his eye-sockets, his soul overwhelmed by a new wave of that pain that was now so familiar.  
  
“you know, you aren’t the only one suffering here, red”.  
  
Red’s face jerked up; Stretch had turned to look at him, his expression ever so calm in appearance, and only now Red could realize it, deep, dark circles rested under his eye-sockets, which carried all the grief of a thousand lives spent in agony, all the knowledge of who has seen the worst has seen their hands covered in dust has seen their world fall apart and burn, and knows that nothing can mend a broken life, nothing can erase the piercing pain of loss, if not death. Stretch felt everything _he_ felt, and that torment was consuming him, too. And yet, his eye-sockets weren’t fixed on the abyss, they were focused on Red; and, among all that despair, that sorrow and that tiredness, Red could’ve sworn, he could discern a flicker of a very much alive, pulsating emotion, just for him. It was so strong that it was almost unbearable.  
  
“i-i’m sor-”.  
  
“we all are suffering, red. we all have lost someone”. Stretch lowered his head, a sigh escaping him. “you aren’t alone, and you don’t have to do anything alone. i know how you feel”.  
  
Stretch lifted his gaze and rested it on Red (and there it was, that emotion, possibly even stronger that before), laying a cool hand on Red’s own burning one, squeezing it, and the emotion, pleasantly cool too, seemed to pass though that brief contact and enveloped Red in something that could only be described as a hug. It was overwhelming, and beautiful, and terrible. Red shivered and looked away.  
  
“i know”. He shrugged. “it’s just that today it hurt like hell”  
  
“when it happens, you come to me”. Stretch lifted his other hand and laid it on Red’s face, turning it to him and locking eye-sockets (his right one was currently weakly burning orange) with him. “you just come to me. for anything. i can’t…”. Stretch’s voice broke. “i can’t lose you too”.  
  
Red felt himself freeze; it was like his soul had suddenly become stone and had fallen to the ground, shuttering into a thousand of tiny fragments. Stretch had never sounded so broken _(tired crumbled fallen apart destroyed broken broken bROKEN)_ , so willing to expose his feelings, his deepest demons, his soul; his eye-sockets sparkled in the dim-light, shining with tears and grief. Red knew that his own left eye was glowing blood-red, and didn’t bother holding back a sob.  
  
“sometimes…”. Another sob; Red let his cranium fall on Stretch’s hoodie, the sweet smell of honey and snow ( _of home_ ) welcoming him, and Stretch’s arms wrapping around him. “sometimes it’s like the only thing i can see is red. _his_ red. it’s like i can hear him calling me, asking me why i’m not there taking care of him, why i stayed here, why i didn’t follow him, why it’s so dark and everything hurts and i let him di-”. Red tightened his grip around Stretch, hot tears soaking his cheekbones. “and everything is just so… red. and so him. and i miss him so much, stretch”.  
  
Stretch was looking at him with such tenderness that, had it come from anyone else, would have made him sick; but with him, Red could only float in that tenderness, as if in a limitless, waveless sea, and, to say the truth, he would have gladly drowned in it, if that meant that he could stay in it forever.  
  
“you know, sometimes i see him, too”. Stretch’s voice had become a whisper, so gentle and intimate that it was almost like he was speaking directly to Red’s soul. “i see blue. and the blue _screams_ for me to save him. but i can’t. it’s too late”. Stretch rested a hand on Red’s cranium and stroked it, reverently, as if he was touching something terribly frail and precious. “please, red. i couldn’t stand to see red, too”.  
  
Red’s soul throbbed painfully; and now, Red knew it, he was drowing in that sea of tenderness, the orange engulfing him and erasing, even though for just mere seconds, the unrelenting and agonizing red that was always by his side. He wanted Stretch to feel all that, too, he wanted him to feel loved and cherished and _protected_ , because Red would have done everything and anything for him, would have given his own life to protect the last sparkle of hope he had in the world.  
  
Slowly, he rested his forehead against Stretch’s, staring into his eye-sockets, the soothing, orange light of the right one dim but still there, their hands entertwined and their souls so close that they were almost touching, almost merging with one another and becoming one.  
  
“you won’t”. A pause. Red pressed his teeth against Stretch’s. “i promise”.


End file.
